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Numb people. Hah! Funny indeed....
Actually, a little to close to home for me to be funny anymore.
But in the world of Stoicism the name of Cornelius Fronto cannot be ignored. Truly a great man, he of course was one of the more than twenty very expensive teachers thrown at the feet of one Marcus Aurelius. Sometimes I think of a traveling Fronto, moving from the heat of an unknown Africa into the bowels of Rome. Into the depths of an Empire where his student would stand admired by the people if not a little in contradiction with himself.
Why?
So glad you asked.
Old Marcus had to devote the majority of his life to fighting off blessed Christians and what's more, nasty wars with the Germans and the Parthians, all the while professing peace and all the ideals of Stoic philosophy.
Must have been a bitch.
Okay, so I'm not being fair and probably more than a little one-sided, but I'm only making an observation. That is this: we all have grand ideals, but do any of us really live up to them?
Feeling a little introspective tonight I suppose. I got to wondering about the poor bastards who dedicate their lives to peace, only to spend it fighting and dying for the cause. Or how about the alcoholic whose only ideal is to recover, but in the attainment of that ideal falls so terribly short, ends up in a tailspin from which there is no recovery. Or...ouch...the writer who can't spell, absorbs everything like a sponge, but acts on little and publishes nothing. Double ouch...
So how can I lean on Marcus for being a great man? And how can I lean on myself for being less of one? Is it all that simple?
Oh, but only if it were. It would make it so much easier to stand on the steps and profess my faith. I could have cards...
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Here's the white...there's the black, now let's go have a drink."
Ah well. I'll settle for the drink. I think most of us do. I'll settle for a corner in cyberspace. A set of virtual steps. But mark the word here.
Settle.
Now my dictionary has twenty-two different definitions for that simple word. Most of them leaning toward the clear and comfortable, a sense of permanence. By settling, is that what I do? Is that what I am? Rooted. Accepting. A neat little package all wrapped up that can explain and debate any issue with you, anywhere, anytime. I don't think so. I never settle. I'm always changing. I can never decide from one minute to the next what I want. What I believe in. I fight under the flag that's winning...most of the time.
Is my ideal to not have any set ideals?
It's all up for grabs, convince me. I can't be at fault if I don't lay claim. I didn't think that, Nietzsche did. It's not my fault, Marx made me do it, blame him. Hell no, I couldn't have done that, Dostoevsky wouldn't approve. No, no, my back was turned and Boethius clearly states...
An old friend of mine once yelled in frustration, "Budallabramazuesthorlord!"
That's one way to put it. Of course even that yell turned into an eight page poem written in three parts.
You see what we do.
goodnight 4.11.98
